Collection of Dramione Oneshots
by dramione1603
Summary: No particular theme. Fair warning: most of these are going to be very sad and ALL are rated at least T, so I'm making the entire collection M for the couple that is M. I will have the rating and summary of the stories at the top of said story. Some will be fluffy, but I'm not very good at that, so most will be very serious and painful. Happy reading!
1. Silence

Alright, starting out with a super sad fic. I must warn you: most of these aren't going to be happy. xoxo -cookie

Summary: My perspective if Voldemort won the war and if Draco loved Hermione. Super sad and drama-filled.

Rating: T

* * *

The manor isn't supposed to be this quiet. It's supposed to be filled with shouting whenever I'm in her presence. But instead, silence.

Silence.

Silence.

All the time. It was becoming unbearable. I had begun to look forward to Voldemort's Death-Eater meetings just to escape it. But when I return, it's always there, like an echo, haunting me.

Silence.

Voldemort had won the war. My father was dead, killed when he failed with the diary. My mother was dead too, killed at her sister's own hand. I know my mother's death was my fault. I knew that she was dead because Snape had to kill Dumbledore on my behalf. I knew that Bellatrix killed my mother on Voldemort's orders. But the grief is gone. Long gone. It had molded me into who I am now. An empty shell of a person. I used to be very smart, with thoughts always swarming around my brain. They had stayed for a while after the war. The thoughts were the only things keeping me sane. But now they are gone, replaced with whispers and horrible images. Sometimes it's not even that, sometimes it's silence.

Harry Potter, the one person who could get me out of this mess, is dead. Voldemort had seen to that. I had killed a lot of people in the war too. Two I regret the most. Neville Longbottom, who will never kill the snake. Ronald Weasley, whom she loved. I killed him and now she hates me.

There are very few members of the Order left. Voldemort held an auction to let the Death-Eaters buy a slave. I knew who I wanted even before I saw her. I knew I wouldn't make her a slave. I would make her my wife, for I had loved her since fourth year. Being the right-hand Death-Eater, I got the first pick. Everyone thought that I would choose Luna Lovegood, for she was a pure-blood. When I didn't, Blaise Zabini did. He admitted that he fancied her.

When she and I reached the manor, she screamed at me, threw books at me, tried to strangle me. But the iron cuffs around her wrists prevented her. I finally told her to stop. I am the master and she is the slave. She has to obey. I don't want to treat her like a slave, though. I lead her to an extra bedroom, and after glaring at me for what seemed like an eternity, she laid down on the bed. I watched her sleep, not knowing that I would never hear her voice again.

Silence.

When I woke up in the morning, I went into her room, but she ignored me. She sat in a chair, which was facing a window, and stared outside. She would come out of her room for meals and that was only because I sent the house-elves up to get her.

For days this was happening. I would shower her with gifts. Clothes, jewelry, and books. She would never speak, just stare out of the window. The only gift she accepted was a small silver locket with an H and a D carved on the inside, and that was only because I put it on her myself. I could feel myself breaking inside. I wished she would yell at me, throw books at me, kill me. Anything. Anything to hear her voice again.

During the earlier meals, she wouldn't eat. She glared at me skeptically, like she thought the food I placed in front of her was poisoned. I assured her that it wasn't, but I had to eat from her plate to make sure that she didn't starve herself. After three days, hunger clawed in her stomach. I could tell from the pained look on her face at breakfast. I told her to eat, but still she ignored me. She said the only words that she had said in days. "I want to die."

Every day, I would ask her to be my wife. Get down on my knee with a one-karat engagement ring, asking her to marry me. Every day, she refused. Tears streaming down her face, staring out the window, rain or shine. I knew she was thinking about Weasley.

When I awoke on that fateful day, I could feel that it was going to be a great day. Except that was just the opposite. I went to my Death-Eater meeting, thinking that when I got home, she would accept my proposal. Except when I got home, I saw blood on the street outside my manor. Blood and a body. I ran to her, her face to the sky, her hair mussed around her beautiful glazed eyes. She was dead. I looked up to see a broken window, the same window she always stared out of. She had thrown herself out of it, killed herself. I picked up her cold hand, now cut into shreds. Tears trickled over the bridge of my nose. She had killed herself because her life was miserable. And who had made her life like that? Me.

I, Draco Malfoy, had killed Hermione Granger, the only person I had truly loved. Truly loved. I would never hear her beautiful voice again, never see her hazel eyes. My manor had turned into a prison I could never escape. All because of the silence she left behind.

Silence.

She was gone. And now I have to live in this damned world without her.


	2. Haunted

Summary: Draco switched to the light side to be a spy during 6th year, but around the same time, he and Hermione fell in love. They both got caught by the death eaters and this is their experience in a cell (in Malfoy Manor) from Draco's perspective.

Rating: T

* * *

I no longer see the world the same way. It's like I've stepped aside into the passenger's seat when I should be in the driver's. My eyes see everything from afar; my brain never processing it.

I shouldn't even be here. I should be with the rest of the Order, with Potter and Loony Lovegood, celebrating Christmas. At least, that's what I assume they are doing. I shouldn't be here, in this cell, with only my guilt of what I've done to haunt my thoughts.

I used to have a cellmate. She was beautiful and kind. I loved her. And she was the only thing keeping me sane in this cold, wet prison. When I did it, it wasn't because I wanted to. Trust me, I didn't. I did it because she begged me.

There was a choice. On day 137 in our confines, my aunt came to us. She was the first visitor. Bellatrix threw a wand into our cell. At first, my cellmate thought that they were letting us go. But I knew better than to bring my hopes up. And my intuition served me correctly.

Bellatrix gave us the wand because Voldemort had given her very strict orders. One of us had to kill the other.

The wand was my mother's old wand, the wand that I had been using up until our capture. My mother had hated that I had gotten the Dark Mark. She had pleaded with my father, begging him to have mercy on me. But my father had ice in the place of his heart. But he was still my father; I still loved him, even though he had committed many terrible crimes.

When Voldemort killed him, the rage inside of me was unmistakable. But I wasn't mad at Voldemort; I was furious at myself. I blamed myself for his murder. I guess, as I look back on it, that I was right. It was my fault. If I hadn't joined the side of Harry Potter, he would still be alive.

But I wouldn't have her.

My love pleaded with me to kill her, knowing that I would survive longer than her in this hellhole. She said that she couldn't live a minute longer in this cell, that she was going crazy just being in these confines. She promised me that we would be together in the end.

She told me to not look at her when I did it. That would make sure that I did it, that both of us wouldn't be killed instead of just her. She told me not to have mercy.

But I did have mercy. Before I did it, I Stupefied her and erased all her memories. It pained me to obliviate her. She was resting so soundly on the floor. I knew that if I didn't do it fast, I would never do it.

And when Bellatrix came back, I killed her.

Days hurried by. I could hear the muggle clock outside of my cell ticking. I sat on the straw bed, staring out the small window. I had convinced myself that I had not gone insane, but deep inside of me, I knew that I had. Sometimes I saw her, floating around my cell, telling me that it would be okay. Whenever I did see her, I would tell her to go away. I would tell her to go away because I knew that she is not real, that she was a figment of my imagination.

She would go away. She would. And it would scare me. Being alone in the cell, without her presence; it frightened me. I would call out for her, asking her to come back. Sometimes she would come back, come to me. She would comfort me, put her arms around me. I could never feel them and I knew that she wasn't there. But my heart broken soul had convinced my mind that she was. Sometimes she wouldn't come. She would leave me there, calling out for her. For hours.

She had always had faith that Potter would come. I guess I should too.

But when he did finally come, it was too late.

I hoped that my aunt or Voldemort would come and put me out of my misery. She had told me that we would be together in the end. What end? Surely she will go to heaven and I will go to hell for all the misdeeds I've done against people. Surely she would become an angel, while I become a demon, haunting people's bodies for eternity. Surely we would cross paths again, her trying to kill me, me trying to kill her. Surely I will still have my memories from this life, so I can remember what I did wrong. But I will also remember her and the lies she had said. What kind of happy ending is that?

One day, my aunt did come, but it was not with Voldemort. My mother was beside her, clinging to her sister, tears running down her face. My aunt told my mother that she had to kill me in order to prove her allegiance to Voldemort. I could tell that my mother wasn't going to do it. I could see her breaking inside. So, I spoke the only words I had since she had died. "Please. Do it, mother." I looked at her, seeing if she registered my quiet plea. She had stopped crying and was looking at me slowly. "Put me out of my misery." My mother nodded once calmly like she was in a trance. Then she lifted her wand slowly and aimed it at my chest. I noticed that she was carrying her wand again, the wand I had used to kill my beloved.

"Will you be with Hermione?" she asked quietly.

"I think so."

"I love you, Draco." Before I had the chance to respond, she said the words that killed my body, but renewed my soul. And I only thought _I love you_ before she said them.


	3. Obliviate

Short chapter today!

Summary: "I love you." "I love you, too." "Obliviate."

Rating: T

* * *

 _Hermione and I were sitting by the fireplace in a secret common room that I had found earlier this year. My head was in her lap and she was stroking my white-blond hair, while inside me, a raging internal battle occurred. I knew that Hermione was in trouble, I knew that the Dark Lord was coming close to finding out about our relationship. Then he would have her killed. I couldn't live with myself if that happened._

 _"Draco? Is there something wrong?" Bloody hell. I knew I should have changed the look on my face. She can read me too well._

 _"No, love. Nothing is wrong." I smiled up at her, my Adam's apple bobbing. I couldn't lie to her much longer. She grinned back down at me and then continued staring at the snow that was twirling outside. My heart felt like it was breaking into pieces, just staring up at her innocent face. I knew that if the Dark Lord found out about us, and I failed to kill Dumbledore, he would kill her. Or torture her. I ran my hands down her beautiful hair, bushy as always. To her face, where her hazelnut eyes looked down at me questionably. She had a right to know. But I couldn't tell her. I leaned in, kissed her. Pouring all my emotions out into that one kiss. Knowing it would be the last one I ever got._

 _When we finally broke away, I stood up, trying to keep the tears back that I knew were in the corners of my eyes. I walked a couple of paces, my back to hers, watching the ice outside, the evergreen trees that were so much like her, elegant and beautiful._

 _"Where are you going?" Hermione asked. With this one question, I let the tears go freely. She couldn't see them, but I knew she was worried._

 _"I'm sorry," I said as I pulled my wand out of my sleeve. I turned to face her, my wand at the ready. Realization dawned on her face._

 _"No," she whispered, standing up. "We can get through this together. I love you, Draco!" She was crying by the end, coming towards me. I held my wand up and she backed away, fear now etched on her face. "Isn't that enough?" She murmured._

 _"I love you. It's for you own good," I cried, tears pouring down my face. She shook her head and started to say something, but I cut her off. "I'm sorry," I repeated. And then I said the words that broke my heart, that killed me inside. Said the words that let her stay alive. "Obliviate."_

I was remembering all of this as I stared out of a window, watching the rain beat down on the earth. Tears were trickling down my face again, but I ignored them. I was watching two figures, children, play in the mud and puddles. The red hair on the girl's head signified who her father was. I knew that I shouldn't be watching, but I couldn't take my eyes off of them. My manor was right next to the Weasley's humble house. I knew that Hermione Weasley could never love her husband with her whole heart. Not as much as she loved me.

She would never remember us. Never remember the nights we spent together in our secret common room or the beautiful kisses we shared. She would never remember her love for me. But I knew it was there. You could never stop loving a person. But I would love her for the rest of my life. I would endlessly pace my manor, watching my life go by, spying on the two children next door, wishing they were mine. My mother said that I should marry. But there is no one else I want to marry. But I am okay with all of this misery. Because I know that I saved her life, that she would be dead right now if she could remember her love for me when the Dark Lord captured her. But she didn't remember it. And so I am okay with this.

"Rosie! Hugo! Come out of the rain! You'll make yourself sick!" My eyes averted quickly. There she was. Her bushy hair just as it used to be on rainy days, her dainty hands clutching a sweater. And as her two children came bounding up the stairs, I swear she looked straight at me and smiled.


	4. Gone

Summary: Draco and Hermione fell in love after the war and got married. This is years later, when Hermione has suddenly passed from old age. Draco is heartbroken and nothing is helping him — not even his children.

Rating: T

* * *

She was gone.

Gone. Just like that. Easy as that. He hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye, thanks to his damn business trip.

After sixty-five years together, three kids, and seven grandchildren, she just upped and left.

Draco Malfoy had used to believe that there had been some sort of heavenly being above, watching over him and his wife. But now he knew that there wasn't. Because if there was, it wouldn't have let her die.

"It's not your fault," she whispered over his shoulder.

"Go away!" Draco screamed. "You're dead! You left me!" When he didn't hear her soft, gentle voice in his ear, he turned around slowly, expecting the worst. She was gone.

"Come back," he called out. "I didn't mean it. Come back!" His life had become a hellhole ever since she had left. His children had tried to come and see him with his grandkids, but he frightens the little ones now. They think that he is crazy.

Draco ripped the cross necklace off his neck, the one she had given to him for his fortieth birthday. He had worn it every day since. Beads flew everywhere.

"No. No, no, no!" he cried out, trying to gather the beads together. Tears poured out of his eyes, but they got caught behind his glasses, his vision becoming blurred. He ripped those off too and continued his search.

Draco still had arguments about his liability in her death with his children years later. He knew that, deep down, it wasn't his fault. Yet he still blamed himself. He had damned himself to a life of living hell the moment he had found out she was dead.

"Dad, you know that it's not your fault, right?" his eldest son questioned. It was Christmas Eve and all of the family was gathered at the Malfoy Manor.

"Really?" Draco asked his son, coming so close to him that his nose touched his son's forehead. "I knew she was sick, yet I still left. I still went on the damn business trip! I thought that she would get better because she always gets better! But she didn't!" Draco was crying by the end, his pretense broken down. But he didn't care. Life wasn't worth caring about without her.

Sometimes, when his children managed to scrape together enough time to visit him, he didn't remember who they were.

Draco was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, staring at a picture of her. It's the only one that doesn't move; it's his favorite. She had changed him.

"Dad, are you okay?" His only daughter came up behind him, placing a hand between his shoulder blades. Draco whipped around.

"Who are you?" Draco shouted at her. His daughter's cool facade visibly shook a little, but her posture regained its height and she challenged him with a calm guise. He knew she was troubled by his haunted thoughts and agitated mind, but she tried to remain serene in front of him. "Where am I?"

"You're in the Malfoy Manor, daddy. You live here."

"No, that isn't right. This is where my aunt tortured her," Draco said. His eyes widened. "Is she still alive? Is my damn aunt still alive when my Hermione isn't?" The happiness in his daughter's eyes evaporated and was immediately replaced with concern.

"No, daddy," his daughter smiled sadly. "Mama killed Bellatrix." She took her hand off his shoulder and brushed her wavy brown hair out of her eyes. He shivered as she withdrew her hand. It had felt comforting for a moment, almost as if his Hermione had been back. But as he faced the cruel overlook of reality, he knew she would never be back.

She would never be back.

Never.

She was gone.

A/N I know Hermione didn't actually kill Bellatrix, please just go with it! I thought that it would make the story

better. I love this story; it happens to be one of my favorites so far.


	5. Promises

This one makes me so sad. I don't know why this one more than others, but it does. Comment if you think that I can do something

think that I can do something to make it better because I'm not so sure about the word choice or the story line.

 **WARNING: this contains worse language than my previous stories!**

Summary: Draco and Hermione have sex, which leads to Hermione becoming pregnant with his kid. He tries to be a good father to him but fails. Once the Malfoy Curse has selected its next victim, it can never be undone.

Rating: M for slight language

* * *

I had done what I had promised never to do.

When we found out that she was pregnant, she made me swear that I wouldn't become like my father. That I wouldn't tear the happiness from my child and make it into a monster. That I wouldn't destroy its future.

I promised, even though I knew it was an oath I could never keep.

From the first moment I saw my newborn son, I loved him unconditionally. I couldn't understand why I would ever want to hurt him. He was so innocent.

Now I understand.

No, not understand. Accept.

I accept it. It is fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. I will always be a Malfoy and Malfoys always make their sons into killers. That is the curse on our family.

My wife pleaded with me not to destroy 'our' son. She told me that she loved me, but that is a lie. Another fucking lie. Whenever I was home, dealing with another one of my son's rages, she was away, partying with Weaselbee.

It had been a one-night thing, between me and her. Just lust and need, sparked by anxiety caused by the War. A one-night thing that had caused her getting pregnant.

Because she was pregnant with my child, she was obligated to marry me. But Hermione Granger didn't love me, or my son.

Promises, promises, promises.

Promises are such stupid things. They are so easy to break, so easy to lie about. Hermione promised to be a good, faithful wife in our wedding vows. My mother had made Snape promise to keep me safe, at all costs.

That ended with Snape killing Dumbledore.

My mother is now dead because of my cowardice. My father, the bastard that he had been, was long dead, killed when he failed with the diary.

I am an orphan.

My son sees the world as black and white. There is no middle ground; only the murderer and the victim. He decided he would rather be the lion than the gazelle; he would rather kill than be killed.

When he killed Granger, he didn't do it with an Avada. He did it with a muggle tool; something called a gun. He shot four bullets into her stomach and three into her throat. She died immediately.

Even if she never loved me, I _did_ love her. I loved her so much, it hurt when she left at night instead of staying with me and our son. And I never got a chance to say goodby

He regretted it the next day. He said he didn't have control over his body, his emotions, his thoughts. He locked himself in his room for fourteen hours. When dusk fell, he departed, dressed in all black, carrying his wand and gun.

But his eyes were different: they looked more like holes in his face than the expressive icy blue they had been hours before.

I tried to raise my son properly, like a good Malfoy heir. But every day, he was grieving over the recent kill and every night, he was going out again.

I couldn't stop it.

He killed my wife. He killed my best friend. He killed my aunt. When will this stop?

He promised that he would try to conceal the darkness inside of him, not let it out. But like all promises, this one failed too.

He couldn't keep the darkness in. He couldn't conceal it; he couldn't hid it.

He couldn't even keep from killing his own father.


	6. Words

Summary: This story is inspired by the scene between Draco and Snape talking in the hallway, after Slughorn's Christmas Party. I was watching the sixth movie and I wondered what if it was Hermione listening instead of Harry _?_ So I wrote this. Here's the scene if anyone has forgotten:

 _"I swore to protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow."_ **Snape**

 _"I don't need protection. I was chosen for this. Out of all others, me! I won't fail him."_ **Draco**

 _"You're afraid, can pretend to conceal it, but it's obvious. Let me assist you."_ **Snape**

 _"No! I was chosen! This is my moment!"_ **Draco**

Rating: T

Enjoy!

* * *

His words pounded in my head.

 _"I was chosen for this."_

They wouldn't go away. I couldn't make them go away. It was like they were ingrained into my brain; fixed into that small part of my memory so they could never leave.

All this time, he had been _lying_ to me. He told me that he hadn't become a Death Eater and he had.

He must have.

 _"You're afraid, Draco."_

He had told me of how Voldemort had threatened to murder his parents if he didn't complete the task. But he had me convinced that I was more important than his parents.

Maybe I _was_ more important than his damned father. But Draco would die before he had to watch his mother die.

Why me? Why is fate, destiny, whatever you wish to call it, so unmerciful that I have to be the person to fall in love with this _monster_? I thought that the man behind the beast was beginning to show; a man who hurts just like every other human being, a man who has flaws.

But I was so terribly wrong.

 _"I won't fail him."_

Draco had spoken of his task before this, but I had never realized that he was going to carry it out. Maybe I was too daft or too oblivious to note how his well-being had faltered. He looked sicker; paler, the dark circles under his eyes were larger. The late-night excursions to meet me could have a hand in his appearance and attitude, but I didn't look or act like that.

More likely, it was because he was too worried to sleep. _What if I do fail? What if he does kill Mother? What if he kills me?_

Words had never bothered me before. But never before had someone so blatantly lied to my face. Emotion had begun to cloud my judgment and that is something that had never happened before. Not with Harry, not with Ron.

But then, why do I still love him?

I tried to convince myself that I don't. But it was a fact.

You can't lie to yourself about what your emotions are. You can only keep them at bay.

But I can't abandon Harry and Ron because of my own selfish desires. Draco has chosen his side. And it's not with me. I must learn to accept that and, if it comes down to it, face him on the battlefield.

I know he had lied to me in order to keep me safe; I know he lied to me in order to keep me at his side.

But he had lost me. Forever.

If only he had used his words.

A/N comment on any mistakes in the plot or writing you see!


	7. Draconian

Summary: This was originally the prologue to a chapter fanfiction I was going to do called Draconian. It is set after the Battle of Hogwarts — Voldemort has won the war, and Harry and Ron are dead. Hermione is struggling in a world where muggleborns are no longer welcomed nor allowed. When she is captured and put in an infernum (a prison), Draco Malfoy comes to her aid and saves her. **REVIEW if you think that I should continue!**

Rating: M, because I think that the entire story will be M.

Draconian means "excessively harsh or severe".

* * *

 _Dearest,_

 _There is no doubt in anyone's mind. The War had been a failure. A tragedy. A defeat._

 _Some people believed that good would always triumph evil, that the good side would win simply because it was good. But that is not true. Just because good is good didn't prevent Voldemort from winning when he was more powerful than Harry._

 _Harry had lost. It was a fact as simple as day turning into night, or a seed sprouting into a flower. But with evil's victory came a time of pain and suffering._

 _If caught, muggleborns are forced into torture sites called infernums. Any people associated with them go to Azkaban. Many people reading this may think that Azkaban is worse than infernums, but they are wrong._

 _Infernums are hell put on earth. Feeders, death eaters chosen to regulate the infernums, inflict pain on muggleborns for their own pleasure. The muggleborns become enslaved to any death eater who wants them; the rest are tortured for not being good enough._

 _I am lucky not to have been caught yet. But I am putting Ginny and her children in danger. Oh, Ron, if only you and Harry were alive now. You two make everything easier._

 _I am leaving the apartment tomorrow. I cannot keep putting the people I love in harm's way just because I am too afraid to brave the world and accept that I no longer welcome._

 _Remember that I love you._

 _Hermione_

Hermione let go of the breath she had been holding in for who-knows-how long. The steady grip on her muggle pen faltered and it fell, breaking as it hit the concrete floor. She felt a single tear wet her cheek and she sank back onto her bed, hugging the letter close to her chest.

"Hermione? Do you want to come with Albus and I to get some more bread?" Hermione hastily wiped away her tears and hid the paper under the sheets. Straightening her clothes, she threw open the door and drew Ginny Potter into her warm embrace.

Ginny's wedding ring glinted against the soft candle light as they came apart and she put her hands on her hips, saying, "What was that for?"

Hermione shrugged. "Can't a girl hug her best friend?"

"Of course," she said, putting her hand on Hermione's arm comfortingly. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I'll come with you," she sighed.

"Goodie!" She cried, throwing her hands into the air in fake exaggeration. "I'll just grab James and bundle up Albus, and we can take a family trip!"

Hermione shook her head as her friend forced James' shoes on. Just a fleeting smile is something that she never got to experience anymore. No one did. It was just part of the new world.

Hermione looked over to where Albus was peacefully playing with his two wooden blocks, and then to where James was screaming in Ginny's lap. "Maybe we shouldn't bring them."

Ginny looked up from her task and frowned. "You know that the only way to get enough food for four people is to bring four people, Hermione. It's been like that since the War."

Hermione chanced another look at Albus and said, "What if something goes wrong?"

"It won't. Come on, Albus, let's go for a walk."

The line stretched almost three blocks, and Hermione grabbed Albus' hand as they inched towards the tent. "I wish we still had our wands," she muttered into Ginny's ear as they took another step forward.

"Well, that's the price we paid for being on the losing side." The losing side. Hermione had never thought of herself as a loser. But everyone who had once believed in Harry Potter was now a loser.

A fight broke out to their left and another to their right, but they ignored both as they stepped inside to see a death eater holding a roster, illuminated by the only light source in the room: his wand.

The first thing Hermione noticed about him were his eyes. They were bright against the darkness of his mask, yet dulled from loss of hope. She was sure that she had seen them before; that somewhere, in a distant memory, she could remember this person. But it didn't matter anymore. Nothing does.

"Names?" He asked almost monotonously.

"Lavender Brown," Hermione said, the lie slipping off her tongue easily. She choked a bit on the remembrance of their deceased housemate and glanced down at Albus. He smiled up at her like she was some great hero. Would he love her so much if he knew how much she lied and stole? No. She tugged her hood closer to her face and clutched his hand tighter in hers. "Pureblood."

The man glanced down at his paper, used his wand to write his signature next to Lavender's name, and turned to Ginny. "Hannah Abbott, halfblood," she narrowed her eyes at him, baiting him to say that she wasn't.

"And the children?"

"My sons," Ginny said protectively, drawing James closer.

The death eater eyed them for a moment before pulling his mask off. Hermione gasped as she caught a glimpse of his face, and those damn all-to-familiar eyes.

"Hermione Granger," Draco Malfoy's face looked like it was contorted into a mixture of different emotions: pain, misery, fury, and something else. "Run."


End file.
